Hold Fast
by Ridley C. James
Summary: There are times when we all feel alone and outnumbered, it is in these moments that we must hold fast to the idea that someone out there is watching over us. Tag on for Nightshifter
1. Chapter 1

Hold Fast

By: Ridley

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: Alas, I'm not expecting the boys for my birthday, so nothing Supernatural belongs to me. This takes place in the Brotherhood AU, and is an attempt to keep cannon and fannon on the same page so to speak.

A/N: Tag on for Nightshifter. I loved this episode so much. I honestly think it is the best stand alone we have had. But Tidia and Mog and I were talking in between commercial breaks and we had this conversation about what would The Brotherhood think. And alas, I had to write it. Tidia helped so much with the dialogue so a big shout out to her. And a thanks for the Beta, even in the late hours of a weekend. I hope you enjoy it. Also, I researched Minnesota, and I mean no offense to anyone living in Baudette. I used your beautiful town with the up most respect. Last but not least, this title, Jim's postmortem wisdom, and a line that Caleb says, was inspired by a wonderful song from the band Mercy Me.

Summary: Tag for Nightshifter. In life there are times when we all feel alone and outnumbered, it is in these moments that we must hold fast to the idea that someone out there is watching over us.

**_SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS_**

"_**Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything." -Warren G. Harding**_

Caleb Reaves nearly choked on the beer he was nursing when he glanced up at the flat screen television prominently displayed above the bar. There in all his glory was Dean Winchester.

The young hunter was caught by the many news cameras. A very disturbing and uncharacteristic deer in the headlight look illuminated by the flashing lights of numerous police cars and an ambulance. "Damn Deuce, what the fuck?" The psychic knew it wasn't possible, but he picked up a sudden, intense feeling of complete panic and helplessness from the younger man.

He'd sensed danger before, had visions when Dean was in trouble, but never such a strong emotional response from so far away. Maybe it was a Knight thing. "Turn that up!" He ordered the old man behind the bar. The silver-haired attendant rolled his eyes and tossed the remote to Caleb. It was early in the day and happy hour hadn't started yet, but from the way the bartender was stocking bottles, you'd think he was preparing for Mardi Gras.

"Probably some kids cranked up on that happy juice they like these days," he grumped. "In my time, we stuck to liquor. Didn't see us out holding up banks."

Reaves let the sound of the reporter's voice drown out the old man's lament. He watched as Dean led an old man out the door and then returned into the surrounded bank.

"What the hell is going on?" Caleb demanded to no one in particular and jumped when his phone rang in reply.

"Yeah?" He growled.

"You watching this?"

Caleb sighed. Leave it to Joshua Sawyer to be in the know. The man was probably watching it on his fucking Blackberry. "Like a train wreck."

"What are they thinking?" Joshua asked, the question expressing his complete amazement and much to Caleb's irritation, a hint of amusement.

"Can you do something about this?"

"Contrary to popular belief I do not work with felons...I can not put a spin on **this**."

Reaves glanced back to the television where the pretty reporter was trying to appear serious and morose as she described the hostage situation again and the fact that shots had been fired by S.W.A.T.

"One man's down inside the bank," Sawyer parroted the woman's words and Caleb swallowed thickly.

He read Josh's thoughts loud and clear. "Trust me. It's not Sam." For one, if it were Sam, Caleb had a feeling he would know. Their psychic connection had strengthened over the last few months. And more importantly, Dean was still in control. If Sam had been taken out then Dean wouldn't give a damn. "They're screwed." He breathed, raking a hand through his hair.

"I think you should call Mac."

"Like hell! I'm not calling anyone…" Caleb's phone beeped, alerting him that another call was coming in. "Damn it! Hold on!"

He rolled his eyes when he saw the number. "Dad, hey, bad connection I can't hear you!"

"Don't try that, Caleb. We are in the 21st century. Cell phones no longer have shoddy reception."

_Great. _"So, why are you calling?"

"Dean and Sam Winchester are involved in a bank robbery."

The psychic winced. "Right."

"What are they thinking?"

Again with that question. "Look, Dad, I'm on it. I'm headed that way. Let me call you when I get to the truck."

He didn't give his father a chance to answer as he clicked back over to Sawyer. "Hey, you still there?"

"Oh, yes. It isn't every day one gets to watch the future Guardian and Scholar on a special news report. I do believe for centuries previous ones have tried to fly _under_ the radar. There is that secrecy clause. I do believe my grandfather never even garnered a speeding ticket in his time as Knight and..."

Caleb exhaled loudly into the phone, cutting off the other hunter. "Listen to me. I'm going to need your help." He tossed a twenty on the bar top and grabbed his jacket and keys.

"You mean Dean and Sam are going to need my help?" Joshua was still sounding way too smug for his liking.

"Yes." Caleb could practically imagine the other hunter rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Same difference."

"No. It's not. You still owe me for my Christmas miracle. But now the Guardian and Scholar will be indebted-especially if I have to explain to my boss why Chevrolet Sucks is now on the top of the charts of a different kind."

Caleb pushed outside into the cold Missouri night. "Don't make me remind you of the little botched information fiasco, or better yet, don't make me remind Mackland."

There was a pause and then Joshua was sighing. "Fine. Whatever you need. But I'm telling you now, I'd have better luck at making Lindsay Lohan appear virginal than I would at having those two look innocent."

"That isn't the kind of help I'm talking about." Caleb felt the familiar, haunting presence of his mentor as he climbed into John's truck. "I'll call you back with the details. Stay tuned and let me know if there are any changes in the situation."

"Do you really believe that they can get themselves out of this?"

The big Chevy roared to life and not for the first time Caleb wished he were riding co-pilot on this mission instead of manning the helm. He missed John and sometimes wondered if he were the right man to follow in his steps. "If they don't, we'll find a way to fix it."

"Oh yes, I have just the thing. You can tattoo the architectural plans to whichever federal prison they are sentenced to on your body and then commit a crime so that…"

"Smart ass." Caleb cut the connection, not in the mood to listen to any of Joshua's bad attempts at levity.

He glanced up at the rearview mirror, the flash of gold catching his eye. Jim Murphy's cross pendant dangled from it's tarnished chain, and Caleb took a deep, calming breath as the echo of Jim's voice sounded from the past. _I promise you there is hope_. "Hold fast, boys. Help is on the way."

His cell rang again, and he prayed it wasn't yet another member of The Brotherhood asking him what the hell Dean and Sam Winchester were thinking.

"Yeah."

"I thought you were going to call me right back?"

"Damn, Mac. Aren't you the one lobbying against cell phone distraction while driving?"

His father didn't bite. "I've spoken with Missouri."

"Really. How's she doing?"

"Damn it, Caleb," Mac snapped, not amused in the least at his son's glibness. "She says this is just the beginning."

"Come on, Dad. Missouri can be a little overdramatic."

"They need to go under, Caleb. We need to keep them safe."

That's what Reaves had been saying for years. Funny how no one listened to him before it was too late. "That's not going to fly and you know it. You forgetting who their father is?"

"I'm aware of their lineage and their genetic disposition to act like mules, but I'm still the goddamn Scholar and the only remaining member of the Triad. They will listen to me or I will…"

"What, Dad? Lecture them into submission? Turn them over your knee? The only thing you're going to do is drive them further away."

"You should have seen this coming."

_What? _"You're acting like this is my fault."

"I'm not convinced it isn't."

"What the hell does that mean?" Caleb demanded, not liking the turn in this conversation. He had a feeling it was the first one of many between the _Knight_ and the _Scholar_, not father and son. It was something he hadn't banked on.

"It means you were suppose to be keeping an eye on them. "

"I have been keeping an eye on them, Mac," Caleb growled. "It's not as easy as it appears. They don't want us involved in this whole personal vendetta they have going on with the Demon."

"I understand that. I know all about how 'easy' the Winchesters are and I understand they have our best interests at heart, but this is no longer just about them, about their family. John cut himself off from us and look where that got him."

Reaves sighed, unwilling to imagine the same fate for Dean and Sam. "I talked to them yesterday. I was going to meet up with them in the next day or two. They were on the trail of some freaky theft, suicide happenings that Bobby turned them onto by the way. He thought the people might be possessed. So maybe this is all his fault."

"Now _you_ sound like John. Bobby isn't to blame here."

"Thanks, Dad." Reaves rolled his eyes. He hated to break it to his father but Caleb wasn't the one sounding a whole hell of lot like the former Knight.

"Don't get smart with me. Dean cannot continue to get himself into these situations. It is your job to see to that. Being the future Guardian will give him enough enemies as it is. We do not need to hand people further ammunition to use against him."

"Dean doesn't know he's the future Guardian, Mac! You won't explain it to him, or allow me to talk to either of them about what they're in for. Maybe that's part of the problem." He hated the fucking secrets.

"I understand that things are not clear for them, but do you really believe that now is the time to give them even more to worry about? They are still dealing with their father's death and now this revelation about Sam."

"So you're lying to them for their own good?"

"I am not saying that, Caleb."

"Then what are you saying, Dad?"

"I'm saying that you need to track them down and control this situation before it gets any worse."

"Damn. Is that an order?"

"It is."

"Fine!" Caleb conceded. "Anything else oh Scholarly one?"

"Tell them to meet us in Minnesota-a town called Baudette on the Canadian border."

"Us?" His father was going into the field?

"I'll be waiting for you at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport."

This time Mackland Ames didn't give him a chance to reply before he abruptly cut the connection. Caleb tossed his phone on the seat and sighed. "Damn, this just keeps getting better."

_**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS**_

The Wood Shed was a quaint little backwoods bar on the outskirts of Baudette, Minnesota. It hugged the water line of the Rainy River, and the Lake of the Woods was a fitting backdrop. Despite the beautiful wintry scenery, Dean Winchester was not impressed.

"This place is fucking cold," the young hunter groused as he brooded over his beer. "Who the hell wants to live here with the moose and Willie the Walleye for the only entertainment?"

"Not many people," his younger brother replied with a glare in his direction. "I'm guessing that's why Caleb suggested it."

"Yeah." Dean leaned back in the booth, watching the few patrons of the establishment mull around. They looked like hunters, of the animal prey variety, and a few favored the militia type the FBI prick Hendrickson had accused John Winchester of being. To say the least, they didn't give off a warm, fuzzy feeling but they didn't seem to take notice of much and that suited Dean just fine.

Sam picked at the plate of cheese fries he had ordered and then glanced up at his brother. "Did he say anything about the whole bank job?"

Dean grabbed one of the deep-fried potatoes and shrugged. "Do you want the condensed, clean version or the Rated R blasting that I was treated to?" He smirked at his brother. "I wouldn't want to offend your sensitive nature."

Sam slid the food closer to him, out of his brother's reach. "It wasn't like we meant for it to happen. If Ronald hadn't…"

"Don't speak ill of the dead, Sammy."

It was said lightly, but the youngest Winchester didn't miss the slight clenching of his brother's jaw. He recalled the way Dean had looked after the former bank guard had been gunned down, and he dropped the subject. "So, does Caleb have a plan for how we're going to handle this?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Dean jutted his chin to the door, where Reaves had just entered.

The man dusted snow from his leather jacket, shaking his head to remove the white stuff from his dark hair. He nodded to the waitress who met his eyes across the bar, and pointed to the booth where Dean and Sam were sitting. "Two of whatever's on tap," he called out, like he was a regular, which Dean knew he wasn't. Caleb had never been to Baudette.

"Well if it isn't the infamous Frank and Jessie?" Caleb slid into the booth beside of Dean, giving him a slow grin. "Or is that Bonnie and Clyde?"

"If I were going to have a Bonnie, she'd be a whole hell of a lot better looking than Sam."

"But could she have saved your ass like I did."

Caleb shed his coat, flashing the youngest brother a look. "Sounds like something I'd like to hear more about."

"Drop it," Dean quickly ordered Sam. "Or I tell him about your worshipping of the porcelain god last month."

Sam quickly closed his mouth. "Buzz kill," Caleb said, shoving Dean over some.

"What's with all the space?" The younger hunter complained, but slid closer to Sam.

The waitress chose that moment to bring over the beers and sat one in front of Reaves. "Can I get you anything else, handsome."

Caleb grinned. "Just keep those coming, sweetheart."

Sam eyed the two mugs. "You need to get drunk to tell us whatever it is you brought us here to say?"

Reaves picked up one of the glasses. "Nope. That one's not for me."

Sam started to ask what he meant, but his brother's muffled curse had him following Dean's line of sight to the door. The younger Winchester set his beer down, not quite sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Dr. Mackland Ames strolled through the door, removing his jacket and giving the place a disdainful once over before crossing the floor to join them. Despite the uncharacteristic wardrobe of faded jeans and a dark sweater, Mac looked out of his element.

"You brought your Dad?" Dean demanded under his breath, and Caleb sighed.

"No. I didn't bring my Dad." He gestured with his hand towards the solemn man stalking towards them. "Worse. I brought the Scholar. And it wasn't my idea," he added for good measure.

"Great." Dean forced a grin on his face when the doctor approached. "Hey, Mac. Fancy meeting you here."

"Boys." Mac slid in next to Caleb, eyeing the beer in front of him. "This mine?"

"On me," Caleb replied, not meeting his father's eyes and Dean and Sam exchanged a look. Apparently something was up.

"Mac," Sam spoke up. "What the hell are you doing here? Isn't this dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" The tone was unfamiliar, clipped and holding none of its usual warmth and fondness. "Are you kidding me, Samuel?"

Dean took another drink of his beer, not wanting to imagine how he might be dressed down, considering Sam was Mac's favorite. "No," the youngest Winchester replied, shooting a questioning look to Caleb, who merely shrugged and stole some more of Sam's fries.

"Welcome to my world, Runt."

"Caleb." Mac said, softly. "Remember our agreement."

"I'm being quiet." He stuffed the food in his mouth and leaned back in the seat.

"Look," Dean leaned forward. "We get that you're upset and that this looks bad but…"

"Looks bad? Upset?" Mackland growled, dangerously. "Do you realize that you two are now wanted for murder?"

"I was kind of already wanted for murder…" Dean pointed out and Caleb gave him a look.

"Nice, Deuce."

"I'm not talking about that fiasco with the previous shape shifter. I'm talking about the string of bodies that was left in that bank in Minneapolis."

"We didn't kill anybody, Mac."

"I know that, Sam." Ames sighed, suddenly looking much older than his fifty-odd years. "But the police believe you did."

"We get that we're in trouble," Dean tried again. "But that's a risk of the job."

"The job…you have no idea what your job is, young man." Caleb glanced at his father, expecting the man to come clean, but Mac waved his hand in the air, seemingly flustered. "I mean, I know you think you are forfeit as long as you stop whatever evil it is you're after. But that's not the case. There are people who care about you." He glanced to Sam. "Both of you."

"We can handle this," Dean said with a frown. "It is possible to outsmart the cops on a long term basis, Mac. Hide in plain sight."

"Yeah." Caleb picked up some more fries. "Just look at how the A-team did it all those years."

"Am I really going to have to ask you to go to the car?"

"What?" Caleb asked, innocently.

"Snarky, unsolicited commentary is the same as offering your opinion, Son."

The psychic raised his hands in surrender, saying nothing more. Dean looked from father to son and then back to Ames. "What's going on, Mac?"

"I've arranged for you two to go across the border to Canada. I have contacts there. The Brotherhood has members who work that area. You'll be safe until I can do something about this whole mess."

Dean shook his head. "No way."

"I'm with Dean on this one, Mac, "Sam agreed. "We can't just disappear. There's a war coming."

"Damn it!" Mac slammed his fist down on the table, eliciting a few looks in their direction. "This is not up for discussion. I can't lose…_we_ can't lose anyone else. If Jim were here…"

"But he's not." Dean held the older man's gaze. "He's dead because of us. This is our fight. We can't let you get involved. If Dad were here…"

"But he's not," Mac countered softly. He looked from Dean to Sam and smiled sadly, looking more like the empathetic man they had grown up with. "I wish the old bastard was here. I miss him. I know he was your father and you both loved him, but he was like a brother to me. You can understand that." He glanced from each Winchester then to his own son. "All of you can understand that." The doctor ran a hand through his dark hair. "You're all that's left of him. Of Jim. I promised them both that I would take care of you. All of you. The Brotherhood can not fall apart. The fate of many depends upon that."

"Mac, we're not running." Sam stared at the older hunter. "You told me once that eventually I'd have to make a choice, choose a path, and I have. Just like you did all those years ago. I can't go back, anymore than you can."

"I'm not asking you to, Samuel. Just that you let us help you along the journey."

"Helping us is fine," Dean spoke up. "But it's got to be on our terms."

Mac shook his head. "I suppose I could call in some favors I have in the FBI, find out who this agent is and why he is interested in you two, besides the obvious that is."

"Now you're talking." Dean grinned.

Mackland pointed a finger at the older Winchester. "As long as you lay low, stick to towns like this one where no one's going to notice you. You'll have to be even more careful than usual, and…" He glanced to his son. "You keep in contact with Caleb on a daily basis."

"We don't need a babysitter."

"That's good, because I'm not a fucking babysitter," Caleb protested Dean's choice of words.

"John would not listen to me," Ames interrupted, with an irritated frown. He looked from Dean to Caleb, who were now glaring at one another. " I tried to get him to talk to me about the Demon, let me be involved. I'm not saying it would have made much of a difference in his fate, but I have to live with that doubt for the rest of my life. Caleb glanced at him and Mac held his gaze. "Do you want that kind of guilt?" He looked at Dean. "Are you willing to risk your life, Sam's, because of stubborn pride and a misplaced sense of duty?"

"No, sir," the both answered, simultaneously, and Sam snorted. He hadn't seen Caleb or his brother so contrite in a long time, since the last time they had all hunted together with his father. Mac wasn't the only one who missed John Winchester.

"As for you," Mackland swung his gaze to the youngest. "You will take this time to train with your abilities. They can become a great asset if you are tenacious and persistent in your studies."

"Yes, sir."

Dean smirked at his brother and Sam rolled his eyes. It was like they were little kids again.

"So, we have a deal?" Mac raised a brow.

And the other men nodded. Caleb held up his beer and grinned. "I love it when a plan comes together."

Dean shook his head and Mackland sighed. "You really are testing my patience, Son."

"Don't worry, Mac," Dean nudged Reaves. "I'll keep him occupied by whipping his ass in a game of pool. Move it, Damien, before your daddy grounds you."

Caleb rolled his eyes as his father stood to let them out of the wrap around booth. "Don't even think I'm taking it easy on you because of the whole felon thing."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Dean shot his younger a brother a look. "You should use this alone time to talk to Mac about that drinking problem. Get a hold of it, before it gets worse."

"Drinking?" Mac asked, sounding flustered all over again.

Caleb shot Sam a sympathetic look before following Dean. "Prepare to be lectured, kiddo."

The pool table in the very back was free and Dean headed that way after picking up two more beers from the bar. "So," Caleb took one of the beers and tossed the younger hunter a pool stick. "What?"

Dean raised a brow, and set his beer on an abandoned bar stool. "What, what?" He began to rack the balls.

Caleb took a long pull from his beer and then jutted his chin for Dean to take the break. "What's bothering you?"

Dean snorted. "Besides becoming the newest X-file for this gun-happy Mulder character, you mean?"

"Spill it, Dillinger. You don't have that big of problem with the whole wanted thing."

Dean stopped in the middle of lining up his shot, and glared at the psychic. "Stay out of my head, Damien."

"Hey. I'm not reading you, man. I _know _you. There's a difference."

"There was this guy." Dean shrugged his shoulders, his words involuntarily conjuring a flash of Ronald's body. "He was sort of working the job with me and Sam…and now he's dead."

"He was a hunter?" Caleb frowned, not able to prevent the sense of regret he was picking up on from the younger man . It was usually Sam's gig to take on the undeserved sense of guilt for things, but Dean had been more prone to it lately.

"No." Dean shook his head, not willing to explain the situation. "It's not important. He was nobody."

Obviously it was important. And not just 'anybody' got to Dean. Reaves watched his friend break, sinking two solids. "It's not your fault." Whatever it was, Caleb was sure of that.

Dean cast him a look. "You don't even know what happened?"

"This guy…" Caleb lined up his own shot. "He got involved in something he had no business being involved in, and he drew the short straw. Unless you're going to tell me you took him out yourself, then your argument has faulty logic."

"Faulty logic?" Dean smirked as Reaves sunk the striped he was after. "Who are you? Sam?"

Caleb met his gaze after missing the next shot, his mouth forming a grim line. "Did you kill him, Deuce?"

"Hell no. What kind of question is that?"

"A damn idiotic one." Reaves nodded. "You should definitely stop asking it." He was tired of his friend feeling responsible for everyone. It was going to get him killed.

Dean shook his head, taking down another ball without effort. "You think you're smart, don't you?"

"Smart enough not to have my face flashed all over the evening news. Next thing we know you'll be going commando, hanging out with Paris Hilton."

"Speaking of fantasy land." Dean grinned. "Mac really think we were going to vacation in fucking Canada?"

"Oh yeah." Caleb took his shot. "He was looking into some ice fishing gear, even had Josh searching for designer parkas."

Dean walked around the table, trying to find the best angle. "No way I'd wear anything Sawyer picked out."

"Speaking of Josh." Caleb waited for the younger man to take his shot, then pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "You now officially owe him."

Dean hesitantly took the package and glanced inside. There were several ID's, credit cards, and a thick wad of cash. "What's this?"

"Those are clean identities. The cards are fresh, too-untraceable."

Winchester shook his head. "I'm not taking money from Sawyer."

Caleb elbowed him out of his way. "I'd have to turn Josh upside down and shake him to get a dime out of his tight ass. The money's from me. And you will damn well take it. You need to stay out of trouble for a while, and that means no hustling or illegal activity of any sort."

"So I can't prostitute Sammy out anymore?"

"Right."

"Look, I appre…"

Reaves stopped him with a glare. "Now's not the time to be stubborn, Deuce. Remember what Dad said." He sighed, when Dean began to shake his head. "I understand you want to do this on your own. I really do, and I respect the hell out of you for it, but you need us, whether you want to see that or not. Let me help." Caleb glanced around them, making sure no one was nearby. "Please."

Dean exhaled loudly. "Ronald wanted to help, man, and he took a bullet in the back for that."

Caleb took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He rubbed a hand over his slightly bearded face, feeling wearier than he had in a long time. "That the amateur hunter's name?"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed thickly. "I can't…" He looked back to the pool table. "This isn't a game anymore."

"It's never been a game."

Dean met his gaze again. "You know what I mean. Too many people have died because of me." He was beginning to believe Sam was right about them being cursed.

"I thought we had agreed that dog didn't hunt."

The younger hunter frowned. "Now you're Bobby? You having identity issues, man? I'm going to have to check your eyes for a camera flare if you keep it up."

Reaves sunk the last two striped balls on the table. "Okay. You want it in my words." Caleb leaned against the table, crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not your fault. None of it. Not John's death, not this thing with Sam, and you are sure as hell are not to blame for some sniper taking out that poor bastard at the bank."

Dean started to speak but the psychic held up his hand. "And if something happens to Mac or Bobby or **anyone** else in The Brotherhood, then that responsibility doesn't fall on your shoulders either."

A slight hint of a grin twitched at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Nice try. But you sounded like Mackland."

Caleb groaned. "How about this then?" He stepped forward poking a finger in the younger man's chest. "I'm the fucking senior hunter. I'm the oldest and have worn the ring a whole hell of a lot longer than you. And if that's not enough, I can still kick your ass."

"You're pulling rank and using threats?" Dean snorted. "That sounds about right." Winchester folded the envelope and shoved it in his own jacket pocket. He glanced up at the other man. "Thanks for that."

Caleb clasped his shoulder giving it a hard squeeze. "Don't thank me. You can save all that for Josh."

"Oh hell no." Dean shoved the man's hand away and Reaves laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Deuce. Valentine's Day is coming up. Maybe he'll just want another bonus for Andrew. I hear he loves that bad boy stuff. You could autograph a mug shot or something; send him some pink furry handcuffs. Or better yet take him antiquing."

"Sammy has a big mouth." Dean growled before calling the eight ball in the left corner pocket. He sunk it, straightening up with a smirk. "And a complete intolerance for tequila."

Caleb's eyes twinkled, and he laughed despite the fact he had just lost the game. "Do tell." He racked the balls again. "And don't leave any embarrassing detail out."

It wasn't a perfect ending to the story, in fact, it was probably only the beginning to yet another grueling chapter in their less than fairytale worthy lives, but Caleb couldn't help but to think of Jim and hold fast to the man's words.

_I promise you there is hope. _

January 2007

a/n: PS guys. On the Wings of a Phoenix is coming right up.


	2. Chapter 2

Hold Fast

Ch. 2

a/n: I had not really planned on adding anything to this story, but there were so many kind reviews, and I couldn't answer them all, so this is a thank you. A few people mentioned that Sam hadn't said much in the last part and in this one I couldn't get him to be quiet. Thank you all again for your kind words and thanks to Tidia for the quick Beta. All mistakes are mine. Also, some of you asked about the line about hope that Jim says, it is actually from a story Will is writing called Stranded. Oh, and a warning about language, there is some tension in this one. -Ridley

**_SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSSN_**

"I think Mac can take him. He has a mean bank shot." Caleb looked up at Sam, taking his eyes away from the two hunters at the pool table. Reaves grinned. "And then there's the whole telekinesis. Dad is so not above using his abilities to win. I bet Deuce doesn't even think about that."

Sam didn't look towards the table where Reaves was gesturing but merely continued to peel the label of his beer.

The youngest Winchester heard the older psychic sigh loudly.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to have a heart to heart with you too, Sammy. I'm a little sick of all the emo and if you two keep it up, I'm going to start charging, maybe even put out a shingle beside Mac's."

Sam looked up at him. "He's like a brother to you, right?"

"What?" Caleb frowned, his grin fading. "Who?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. Who do you think?"

"I love that guy. He totally made the Ghostbusters movie." Reaves smiled, but let it drop when the youngest Winchester continued to glare at him.

"I'm serious, Caleb."

"You're talking about Deuce?" Reaves shook his head, a look of confusion crossing his features. "What's this about, Sam?"

"This is about if the worst happens."

The perplexed look was replaced with a more familiar stubborn scowl. "No use discussing that because nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam exhaled heavily, biting his lip to keep the stinging in the back of his eyes from sending any actual tears to the surface. "Now you sound like him."

Reaves shrugged. "Bad side effect from repeated exposure."

The younger hunter frowned. "Just answer my question."

Caleb took a drink of his beer, deciding to humor the kid. "Yeah. So what?"

"So," Sam leaned forward, like a dog with a bone. "You understand the whole big brother dynamic then?"

"What the hell, Sam?" Reaves slammed the beer down as he felt his own senses assaulted. The little shit was trying to pick through his mind. "What are you looking for?"

"Reassurance." The younger hunter frowned, obviously exerting to read the other psychic's thoughts.

Caleb threw up his mental defenses and didn't feel the least bit remorseful when Sam winced. It was the equivalent of having a heavy door slammed in your face. "So you're okay with rifling through other people's feelings, without permission now? Reading is one thing, Sam, but…"

"If it means taking care of my brother then it's fair game."

Reaves leaned back in the booth, more than a little surprised at the attitude. "So the end justifies the means?"

"Hasn't that always been your motto?"

Caleb held the other man's gaze, a flash of hurt racing through his amber eyes. " I thought you knew me better than that."

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "What I know is getting you or Dean to talk about a _real_ feeling either one of you might have is as about as likely as getting Bobby to wear a suit and tie. You both took that page out of the John Winchester handbook and memorized it by heart."

Caleb's mouth twitched but he let the fact that Sam was trying to search through his private thoughts like an amateur detective hold his amusement at bay. "You might want to look in the mirror, kid, before you start throwing around the Johnny barbs."

"Don't redirect, man."

"Redirect?" Reaves eyebrows drew together and he took another long drink of his beer. "Damn. Scholarly word there, runt."

Sam slammed his hand down on the table. "Will it hurt you to tell me the fucking truth?"

Caleb felt his own face flush with anger at the temper tantrum. He couldn't quite remember the last time that he had been frustrated with the youngest Winchester. It might have been on the New Mexico gig, which was the one and only time he had ever had the desire to knock some sense into the kid. He had come damn close to doing the unthinkable then, but his desires to throttle Sam now were running a close second. "It might help if you would clarify the fucking question!"

Sam continued to glare at him. "He's going to be in bad shape if he has to kill me."

Reaves laughed, but the sound was bitter and rang hollow, holding not one trace of humor. "Understate much?" Was the kid serious?

"This isn't funny," Sam snarled. "I want to know if you're going to keep him safe."

Caleb swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath to keep the emotion out of his voice. He couldn't quite wrap his mind idea around the fact that Sam had just gone there. "Fuck you, Sam," he bit out.

Whatever Winchester had been expecting, apparently that wasn't it. "What? You're pissed because I'm asking you to look out for Dean?"

Reaves glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if his father and the older Winchester brother were still engrossed in their pool game. The younger psychic followed his line of vision and was more than caught off guard when Reaves suddenly slid out of the booth, and jerked him out along with him. "Come on."

"Wha…" Sam protested the manhandling and stumbled over his own feet as he was practically dragged towards the men's room and shoved inside.

"Beat it!" Caleb growled at the one lone occupant, who by-passed the sanitary stop at the sink in lieu of escaping Reaves' glare. Once he was gone, the dark haired hunter slid the deadbolt on the door and whirled on Sam. "You want to talk? Fine. We'll talk, Junior."

"What the hell, Caleb?" Sam demanded, his own temper rising at the John Winchester tactic. He made a move to get past Reaves but the other man merely shoved him against the wall.

"This has nothing to do with your father!" Reaves swore, clenching his fist. "It's time you let that go."

"Now who's invading whose privacy." Sam stepped toe to toe with the other hunter, shoving him back. The inch or so Sam had in height advantage was equaled out by the extra muscle Reaves carried, but Winchester held no illusion about who was the most skilled in combat. He did however have all the confidence in the world that Caleb wouldn't actually hit him.

"You started it, Anakin!"

Sam shook his head, holding his hands out in a come and get it gesture. "Is that what you really think, Obi Wan? That I'm going to be your dark apprentice? Why don't you finish it before it comes to that then?"

"No! That's what **you** think, Sam! And I'm so fucking sick of the poor Vader routine that I almost want to…" Caleb growled in frustration. "God! You're such a fucking brat sometimes!"

"Why? Because I wanted you to be honest with me? Because I was trying to make sure my brother would be taken care of after I'm…"

"Don't fucking say it!" Caleb was on him again, slamming him into the wall, his forearm roughly pressing against his throat. "Don't even think it; because I can fucking hear that, too. And are you sure this isn't more about your guilty conscience than taking care of Dean?"

Sam's face reddened further at the insinuation and he shoved back against Reaves. "I'm just saying what Dad knew for God knows how long. What **you** knew and didn't tell me!"

"Now who's redirecting?" Reaves let up on the pressure but didn't move his arm. "Is that what this is about? The fact that you're pissed The Brotherhood knew about your dirty little destiny, Sam? Fuck. I knew about Nostradamus' freaky prophecies, too. Still didn't stop me from having one hell of a New Year in 2000."

"This isn't the same and you know it. The other children like me have turned evil! It's only a matter of time."

"So what, Kid?" Caleb pushed him harder against the wall, frustrated with the whole gloom and doom serenade. "You're going to give up? You ask your brother who has spent his whole fucking life protecting you to kill you? You make him promise?" Caleb could punch him just for that. "Goddamnit, Sammy! And you have the nerve to call me John Winchester?"

Reaves roughly let him go and suddenly stepped back with a disgusted shake of his head. "Then you have the nerve to come to _me_ with some fucked up idea that I can save Dean?" It was like rubbing salt in an open wound. "Fuck that."

Reaves lifted his hand in a gesture of helplessness and stared at him. "You're a selfish bastard, Sam, and if I didn't…" If he didn't love the kid so much it would have been easy. If he didn't know Sam's huge heart was in the right place, he'd have to make him pay for hurting Dean. But he did love Sam and Sam wouldn't hurt Dean on purpose. At least that's what Caleb had been telling himself since Stanford. Reaves swallowed thickly, nearly choking on the taste of bile at the back of his throat. "You're a real piece of work." He sighed, turning away and raking a hand through his hair.

"I'm trying to help him, no matter what you think. You're the only one he'll listen to." Sam's voice was pleading as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Reaves's shoulder. "You have to promise me."

Caleb turned on him. "Promise you?" He raised his head to the sky and growled in complete frustration. "There's nothing to promise, Sam. Don't you understand, Kid. It's a mute point."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, his hazel eyes filling with a look of hurt and disbelief. "Why? Why would you say that."

"Because once you're gone, Dean's gone." The psychic rubbed at his weary eyes, not able to bolster enough leftover anger to keep the emotion from breaking his voice this time. He met Sam's gaze again. "I can't promise you that Dean won't put a gun to his head, but he sure will be looking to take a bullet or die some other reckless death." He paused for a moment, trying to reign in his emotions. Maybe Sam was right about one thing, he hated talking about this shit, hated even thinking about it. But wasn't he the one saying that secrecy sucked?

"You wanted to know if I understood the whole big brother dynamic? Better than I want to. Because, just like Deuce, if that fucking yellow-eyed demon has his way, I won't be able to save my little brother either. Not a chance in hell. And that scares the shit out of me."

Sam blinked as the words sunk in. It was the confession he'd been after, but it did nothing to make him feel one bit better. It only provided him with a reassurance of a different kind. "That's not true."

He waited for the psychic to take it back, to crack a joke about what a pussy Sam was being, but when neither came something inside the younger psychic seemed to snap. Because if it were true, they all were really screwed. A part of him had counted on the idea Caleb could fix it, put all the pieces back together again. Reaves could patch up Dean, like Dean had done with all the broken things Sam had always brought to him.

Winchester took a halting step forward but was unable to see through the barrier of water blurring his vision. When Sam finally blinked the tears were hot against his cheeks and he roughly rubbed the back of his arm over his eyes. "I…" he faltered, not sure of what the hell he wanted to say, but feeling if he didn't say something his chest might explode. Everything was so completely fucked up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this…I don't want to be…"

"Evil?" Caleb felt his own eyes start to sting. _Shit. _He could never handle a leaking Sam.

He wrapped his hands in the boy's jacket and gave him a hard shake. "Don't you get that I know exactly where you're coming from? Not only with the whole psychic thing, but with the connection to that evil sonofabitch. I get it! I've lived it for years, and I'm giving you the same advice your dad gave me. So listen up, because the man was an ass, but he was crazy smart."

Sam watched him, looking way too young and trusting for the older hunter's comfort. It was the patented 'Sammy' stare and it was working its magic, making Caleb feel bad for ever raising his voice, let alone the thoughts he had about kicking his bratty ass. "Get over it, Sam. Don't give it any power over you. If you have to, use it to make you work harder, to be better." He reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of Sam's neck, giving it a hard squeeze, and pulling him closer. "And for the love of God, stop alienating the people who have your back. Some day they might not be there."

They stared at each other for a long moment, their breathing the only sound in the bathroom except for the faint sound of the jukebox coming through the thick, wooden walls. Finally Sam nodded. "Okay."

Caleb laughed, and let him go. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Sam eyed him carefully. "So you're not pissed at me anymore?"

"Hell yes I'm pissed at you." Caleb shoved him again. "I'm locked in the men's bathroom having a total high school chick moment."

Sam laughed, running his hands through his hair. "Then can I ask you something?"

"Is it going to make my blood pressure go up?"

"Probably."

Reaves sighed, leaning back against the sink. "Go ahead."

"What if we can't stop this?"

"By 'this' you mean the whole evil destiny you believe you have going on?"

"Yeah."

"Look, Sam, if you don't listen to anything else I say today, hear this. You have a destiny, an important one, and it has nothing to do with whatever that yellow-eyed sonofabitch has in mind for you, or any of the children like you. It has nothing to do with what's happened to you in the past, but everything to do with all the things you'll make happen in the future."

Sam frowned and started to open his mouth but Caleb held up a hand to stop him. "I can't explain it, but I'll tell you what Jim told me a long time ago when he gave me almost this same little speech. I promise you there's always hope. You just need to trust in that and everything else will take care of itself."

A faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of the younger man's mouth. "And that's worked for you all these years? Hope?" It sounded completely ridiculous and at the same time gave Sam an overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety, almost like Jim Murphy himself were in the room.

"Yeah. That and killing every evil thing I can get my hands on."

Sam laughed. That was more like it. " Our lives are really weird."

"You're weird," Caleb pushed off from the sink, and started for the door. "And if you tell anyone about this commode-side chat, I'll remember your little mental trespassing in a big way."

Winchester shook his head. "I'm no longer in the sharing and caring kind of mood. No one's going to hear anything from me."

"About damn time." Reaves started for the door. " Come on. You are so buying me the next round."

"Hey?"

Caleb stopped, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He turned and stared at the younger man with a look of warning. "Sammy…"

The younger man raised his hands in surrender. "I was just going to say I use to think I cornered the market on the whole big brother dynamic; but Dean got pretty lucky, too."

Caleb snorted and opened the door. He strode out. "I bet you say that to all the guys."

"Just the ones who lock me in the men's bathroom."

"You're just lucky I skipped the swirly, runt."

Sam shook his head and sighed. Maybe Jim was right. If he could convince Caleb Reaves to have a heart to heart talk about his feelings for Dean, nonetheless, then maybe there was hope for all of them. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly before walking out. Yeah. Sam would hold fast to that.


End file.
